


Friendly Fire

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Stabdad (Integrated Worlds) [12]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Sparring, Stabdad AU, kind of, no injury at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 17:40:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18743881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Damara wants a favor. Dave's up for it (...probably.)





	Friendly Fire

"Slick told me to ask you for a favor, Dave," Damara says, pulling out the chair next to you at the table and sprawling across it in a way that it shouldn't be possible to do in a skirt without losing most available modesty. She manages it anyway, though, and gives you a smirk that suggests she knows _exactly_ what she's doing. 

You don't know what she's doing. This early in the morning, you kinda barely know your own name. "...a favor." 

"A favor." 

"Can I maybe get some more info on what that means?" You're _so_ not committing to anything without knowing what you're getting into. Like, no troll's actually tried to get you to do anything you're not okay with, but there's always a first time, and for some reason Damara asking for a favor gives you a weird vibe. 

The logical half of your brain points out that she's not even close to sketchy; she's either a weeb or a goth or both, just a girl a little older than you who speaks English only when she needs to and has an entire wardrobe full of black and red, short skirts and lace and clothes that're ripped in ways that pretty much count as art. Hell, she and Rose were dating for a little while there, even if it was that weird black romance thing that gives you way worse vibes than this situation does. She's fine. 

The other half of your brain (the stupid half) fixates on the way that Damara totally plays into the idea of violence and the hint of sex mixed together into something between an aesthetic and a philosophy, and tries to make connections there. You don't like those connections. There no actual substance to those connections. 

(She's nothing like him. There's no connection.) 

Damara cocks her head to one side, a strand of straight black hair that's escaped her intricately pinned arrangement falling past her eyes as she considers you. Fuck, she's smiling again. "Favor for me." 

"I mean yeah, kinda guessed it was for you. Jack's got plenty of ways to ask me for shit himself, you know?" You need to remember to ask him why the two older Megidos call him Slick, though. Later. "What kind of favor are we talking about, though? I got a lil' time later, I think..." 

"You fight?" 

"I—what?" 

"You fight." Damara rolls her eyes in a way that could make professional actors weep, tipping her chair back onto two legs and crossing her arms over his chest. (The movement draws your attention; you're so fucking glad that she at least opted for the top that buttons up all the way to her throat.) "Been trained. Swords, he said." 

"Uh..." Deny it deny it deny it—wait, why the fuck do you want to lie about this, exactly? "Yeah, before I came here my bro taught me that shit. I mean, dunno if it's the same techniques as y'all use." 

"Good." She snaps her chair level again, leaning across the table towards you as her face goes serious. "Real fighting?"  
"Real enough to hurt like hell." If she asks you if you can kill somebody, you might just freeze up. Mostly because you're pretty sure you know the answer to that one. "Are you, like, looking for a hitman or something here, or...?" 

Okay, so you've heard Aradia laugh before, and Handmaid, but Damara doesn't have either the brightly unconcerned giggle or the soft and almost restrained chuckle. Damara stares at you for a second after you say that, and then she cackles like a fuckin' laugh track from a borderline cursed sitcom. 

"...okay, so you don't want me to fight somebody for you. Great." 

"Fight me." 

"...what." That was way too serious to be a joke, way too calm to be a normal person's declaration of intent. Nobody other'n your bro picks a fight that calmly. 

(Nope. Stop it. This is totally normal and fine and there's a reasonable explanation. Look, she's gonna give you that explanation right now.) 

"Fight me," Damara repeats, and yep you did hear that right. But here comes the explanation. "I need to learn." 

"Learn what?" You _know_ she can fight—since you've come to Alternia you've realized that pretty much every one of these kids are just as good with weapons as you are, even if they have a hell of a lot fewer scars. (And less trauma.) "Like I'm pretty sure Dirk's as good at swordfighting as I am, Damara, it's not like—" 

"No." She shakes her head, a quick irritated motion that sends that loose strand of hair whipping past her face again. "He fights like a troll." 

"Is that a problem?" 

"For me." For the first time since she sat down next to you, Damara smiles in a way that bares her teeth. It doesn't come across as a threat directed at you, but it's _definitely_ threatening. "I know how trolls that fight like trolls fight. Need to learn about trolls that fight like humans so I can take care of them too. Still have time to learn." 

"Uh...what?" 

"Handmaid's rule—no attacking adults. Yet." 

"Is that something you actually want to do here? And like, why?" 

Damara's nose wrinkles up in disgust, and she spits out, " _Casteists,_ " like it's a worse curse than anything Karkat's come up with yet. From your couple of run-ins with the idiots who seem to think that any blood color hotter than green means that the troll it came out of is less person than animal, it kind of is. 

Okay, so you have a slightly more clear idea of why she wants this favor. If she has experience with more fighting styles and how to counter them, she'll be more ready to beat the shit out of assholes once she's actually old enough. And hey, you're a great person to practice this shit with, since you've got both Bro's batshit array of fighting styles and the training Jack's been giving you since he ended up with you. 

"Seems fair. Meet you on the r—" 

Wait. No. Fuck. Damara cocks her head when you stop halfway through telling her to meet you up on the roof, blinking curiously as you shake your head and struggle to reorient yourself. At least she keeps her mouth shut until you sort that out a bit. 

"...y'know what, you figure out where's a good place to spar and text me about it in like two hours. That work?"

* * *

She gives you three, which is great other than the fact that you kind of forget the whole fighting thing with the extra hour. That just means that you get a bit of an unpleasant surprise when you switch from your pesterchum debate with Kankri to the new message you just got. 

amorousAnimosity [AA] started pestering turntechGodhead!

AA: Darkleer says we can use his test room.  
AA: For fighting.

It's a bit of an "oh shit" moment. At least she doesn't use black text. 

TG: oh yeah cool that works   
TG: gimme a sec to ask sollux where the fuck that is and ill be right over

AA: Need me to come escort?

TG: eh nah itll be fine  
TG: like if this was a planet that had residents who felt the need to call the cops on a dude just wandering around with a sword? maybe  
TG: yes officer i do in fact own this and no im not on my way to carjack somebody with it or commit whatever crime you can do with a sword  
TG: murder someone maybe? thats about all that comes to mind right now  
TG: but that shouldnt be a problem plus sollux says youre literally two streets over so if i get lost its gonna come across as pretty fuckin pathetic   
TG: not the hot kind of pathetic the kind where you seriously consider putting me a leash   
TG: actually that might also be something youd do with the first kind of pathetic huh  
TG: like its not like your kinks are any of my business but also i dont know you close enough to rule any out 

AA: Strider.

TG: yep

AA: What the shit are you talking about?

TG: thats a very good question  
TG: how about i tell you the answer when i figure it out myself

AA: Seems fair.  
AA: See you. Let yourself in. 

amorousAnimosity disconnected!

Okay, cool, this is good, this is fine. Time to get off your ass and actually follow through, right?  
Right.

* * *

Darkleer's place is creepy as fuck. Too many half-finished projects between the front door and the main room (living room? eh, something like that.) Most of 'em are in some stage of testing, you think; one lil' round guy with blinking blue lights rolls up to you, bumping into your legs when you stop, and then makes an almost apologetic beeping sound as it backs up and continues back on its way. 

Okay, so that one's cute, but the ones that ain't moving creep you out. Not Damara, though—she's crouched next to a hulk of a robot when you step into the room, poking at exposed wires behind the thing's insectile head. 

"Y'know, I feel like there's a legit chance that's gonna wake up and try to turn you inside out."

"No chance." She looks up at you and grins (no teeth this time), straightening up and snatching a sword off the chair next to her with the kind of fluid motions that suggest it's either dull or she's had a lot of experience with sharp objects. (You're betting on the latter.) "You brought yours?" 

"Well, duh." You reach down and draw the psionic-forged blade that Jack made sure you knew was yours before he ever brought you here, letting her get a good look at it. "Like this'd be a pretty shitty strife if I left my fuckin' weapon at home, right? The whole point is to swing sharp shit at each other until somebody's had enough..." 

Stop. Talking. Damara's looking at you like you're a goddamn alien, which is technically true but doesn't really have anything to do with this simile. 

"Strife?" she asks, and you just barely manage to not cuss yourself out out loud. 

"Strife, fight, sparring match, whatever. 's just words." You flip your free hand as dismissively as you can manage, sheathing your sword again. "There's a bigger room to do it in here, right?"

"Mhm. Follow."

You follow.

* * *

The room is great—padded floor, walls that're already scarred enough by both impacts and fire that you're not worried about making any new marks, nice 'n bare with plenty of room to dodge and lunge. Damara holds the door open, motions you through, and draws her sword with her free hand as she shuts the door behind you. 

Oh, _fuck_. You have yours out before you remember exactly who you're facing. At least that's as far as you get... "Okay, how do you want to do this?" 

"We fight." And there's the teeth again. Hers are pretty _normal_ compared to a lot of trolls, why does that come across as terrifying? "Do your best, Strider." 

"For fuck's sake—there _is_ a first aid kit somewhere here, right?" 

"Won't need it." 

"Damara—" 

"You hit me, we stop." 

"Do you not understand what swords do at all?" 

"Chill pill, Strider. Swords up!" 

Swords up. Right. Fun. This'll be a piece of cake—

Damara takes your nod as the signal to start, and you instantly revise your idea about this being a piece of cake. She tenses and you just barely read her intent in her stance fast enough to get your own weapon up and block. You really regret not parrying instead, because even though you know your sword can't break from the impact she still puts her whole weight and momentum behind the strike, and it actually hurts to absorb that force into your wrists and arms. 

It drives you back a step. And she really does know what she's doing, because she doesn't press you with another slash that'd overbalance her towards you, let you correct your own imbalance by twisting around her and forcing her to reorient; no, she holds her ground and lunges again. 

Just like the first time. Can't get you twice with the same trick; this time you parry, throw her sword off with a grating sound that doesn't quite make your present collapse into your past, let that motion carry through into an attack that she ducks under. 

You're not really sure how she does it, but she turns that duck into a roll, body curling and inverting completely for a second and _fuck_ that's not a move you use in a fight, especially not in a skirt. That fucking skirt—it flips up for just a second that seems like longer because you see black fabric underneath and you almost freeze. It's not a move meant for a fight, it's one meant for a performance— 

Damara comes back up to one side of you and you get back into defense mode just in time to block the next blow. And yeah, you get in another strike after the next two parries, but you're so fucking on edge that it's a struggle to stay on the tightrope of not letting her blade get near you, not actually hurting her—fuck, when she spins to turn her parry into an attack and her skirt flips up and when you get a look at her goddamn panties _again_ you kind of lose sight of the second goal. 

You're kind of having issues with keeping your head clear, actually. The only thing you're thinking right now is something like...fuck, what are you thinking? Something about cameras and performing for them, how nobody fights like this, how it feels like a goddamn show. A show that could get her or you killed, but how the fuck is that different from half of the shit Bro did? 

You're thinking about _him_. It's not safe, and it's getting less so with every clang of steel on steel. 

The next time Damara lunges, you let go of your sword. It flies out of your hands, clatters against the wall and bounces off the floor, and for a second you're back on the roof and you know the blows ain't gonna stop just because you lost your weapon. In that second there's no way you can stop yourself from dropping into a defensive crouch, fists coming up like that's gonna stop a katana from scoring a hit where it'll hurt. 

Then Damara swears in a mixture of Japanese and Alternian—which sounds weird enough next to each other that it's almost pretty—and takes a step back, eyes wide and inhuman in her pale grey face. "Dave?" 

"I—" Where are the cameras. There's gotta be cameras. They're somewhere, you can't look for them because then he'll see you looking and— " _Fuck_ , one sec, gimme a sec..." 

Your phone's in your pocket and you fumble it out before you back up to the wall and let yourself sink down. Jack's number's one of the ones you've set up with a shortcut; you hit the button and wait for it to ring through, very fucking conscious of the fact that Damara's set her sword aside and come to kneel in front of you. 

Time to close your eyes. Shit, that only helps a little. 

" _Kid?_ " Jack says across the open phone line, and you let out a shaky breath that the mic obviously picks up, because he follows that up with, " _Shit. You hurt?_ " 

"Nah, 'm in one piece. Wh—uh, where are you?" Yeah, sounding like you're on the edge of panic tears is totally the right move here. 

" _About to get my ass home if you need me—_ " 

"Jack, I just need you to tell me where you are, okay? Like, I—" 

" _Where are you? Home?_ " 

You very nearly say that you're on the roof. That's how displaced you are right now. "Fuck where I am, I need you to fucking ta-talk to me—" 

" _Okay, okay. Deep breaths._ " 

"Working on that." 

" _Good._ " You hear someone else say something to Jack, and you can just imagine the dirty look he gives them for interrupting his shit. " _I'm out with Paint. Should meet Snowman in a couple minutes, unless she stood us up._ " 

"Where?" 

" _Little cafe. The place where you ordered in Alternian for the first time—remember how you didn't know what the hell you were actually ordering, ended up trying to give it to Vantas?_ " 

"He wouldn't eat it either." Okay. Okay. You remember that shit, remember the whole fucking process of adjusting to a planet and life that didn't include Bro. "Too sweet." 

" _Yeah. You didn't know what to do; the server ended up pointing out a kid who liked sweet shit and you let me help you pick something else out for you._ " Jack huffs over the line, as close to a chuckle as he gets in public. " _Cute_."

"Yeah, kinda." 

" _You all right?_ " 

"Yeah, of course." That's automatic, but you correct it almost immediately. "Flashbacks. I think. Like—fuck, you know it's hard to tell, okay?" 

" _Need me to come home?_ " 

"I'm kinda not there, so..." 

" _Got somebody with you?_ " 

"Damara. We were strifing." 

" _Ah. I'm texting the twins to trace your signal._ "

"Dude, we're at Darkleer's place. And it's not her fault, and I'm fine now." 

" _You don't talk like that shithead when you're fine, kid._ " 

Damn. He has a point— _strife_ ain't your word when your head's anywhere near clear. "Okay, I'm gonna be fine. So long as I don't touch my fucking sword for a lil' bit." 

" _You sure?_ " He is literally emanating doubt. Through a fucking cell connection. 

"One hundred percent." 

" _I'll be home in an hour. Love you, kid._ " 

"Yeah, see you then. Love you too." You know that's all he wants to hear; no need to wait for anything else before you disconnect. You do wait another couple breaths before you open your eyes, just to make sure you actually are breathing normally. 

Yep, all good. Kind of. Good enough to open your eyes and check Damara out, anyway. Shit, not like that. 

...aaaand she's still staring at you exactly like she was when you closed your eyes. Come to think of it, that looks more like concern than whatever the fuck you expected. Which is, like...well, you guess it's kind of shitty that you're relieved about her being worried, but you're pretty damn relieved that she's not, like, freaked out. Or just straight out disgusted that you had a goddamn meltdown over her underwear. 

Wait, shit, that's exactly what you did. She totally knows you looked at her fucking panties. Great going Dave, you're a fuckin' pervert. 

Damara jumps a little when you groan, but you don't see the rest of her reaction because you drop your head into your hands. (Your phone is still in one hand. That kinda hurts.) 

"...Strider?" 

"Yeah, can we just accept that I'm officially at the point where I die of embarrassment? Like there's not really any coming back from this one, Damara—" 

"Embarrassment." 

Okay, so you look up again just to give her a _look._ "Are you saying that working myself up into some kinda goddamn episode over your, uh—your skirt, is a non-deathworthy moment? 'cause I'm pretty firmly on the death side here." 

Her black lips quirk up on one side, like she's _almost_ ready to smile. "So no more flashbacks." 

"Right this second? No." Later? Maybe. You feel like this is gonna be paranoia fodder for the near future. "Uh...sorry?" 

"Mmm." For some baffling reason, she just shrugs and shifts to sweep her legs under herself, instead of kneeling in front of you. "Meant to look." 

"What?" 

"Nice distraction." She smiles, a hell of a lot less aggressively than the last couple times, and reaches down to lift the hem of her skirt an inch or so off her thigh. "Eyes on legs, eyes off sword." 

"Huh." You get where she's coming from, and you have to admit it works just fine on you...kind of in an unorthodox way, though. And you did almost swing over to the pure attack option instead of the other one. "Y'know, next time you're gonna have to give up that advantage. Deal?" 

"Oh, we get a next time?" 

"Yeah? Why not?" 

For a second Damara goes quiet, either thinking that question over or waiting for you to qualify it. When you don't do the latter, she shrugs and leans over to retrieve your sword from where you dropped it. "Eh. Just checking." 

"Kinda takes more than a lil' panic attack to scare me off." You take the sword when she holds it out to you, and you give her back a grin for the one she gives you. 

Next time'll be more productive. Especially if you bring Sollux along to remind you where the fuck you are. It'll be fun.

(...yes. It will. That's not you lying to yourself. You can have fun doing shit that you used to do. It's okay.)


End file.
